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Cloistral Strains 



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190 



mis Alexander Robertson 




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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 



Cloistral Strains 



NOTE 

Most of the verses in this book have 
appeared in ^^The Dead Calypso,^'' 
** Beyond the Requiems,'''' and in the 
Press. Their present compilation is 
intended to present in one volume those 
relating only to sacred subjects. 



Cloistral Strains 



By 

Louis Alexander Robertson 



author of 
"the dead calypso" 

AND 
BEYOND THE REQUIEMS" 



A. M. ROBERTSON 

SAN FRANCISCO 

1902 



THE L.!3HAHV0i-" 
CONGRESS, 

CLASS It- yxp Mo. 



COPYRIGHT, 1902 

BY 

LOUIS A. ROBERTSON 



The Murdodk Press 
San Francisco 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE NAZARENE ....... 7 

FAITH-FOUNDED VISION . . . . . 12 

"GLORIA IN EXCELSIS " . . . . . • ^3 

GOLGOTHA , ... . . . . 1 4 

CALVARY . . . . . . . .16 

THE FIRST EASTER MORN . . . . . 1 7 

VIA CRUCIS . . . . . , . .18 

THE lord's PRAYER . . . . . . 2 2 

THE CROSS-CROWNED CAIRN . ... . •23 

THE WANDERER ....... 26 

RESIGNATION . . . . , . . " ^7 

OUT OF EGYPT . . . . . , . 28 

THE ROCK OF AGES . . . . . .20 

JOB . . . . . ' . . . . 30 

THE needle's EYE ... . .^ , '32 

A RHYME OF THE REDEEMED , , . . 53 

IN MEMORIAM ...... 



A BRUISED REED HE WILL NOT BREAK 



WEARY 



• 43 
44 
. 46 



THE NAZARENE 

A MANGER- CRADLED Child, His mother near. 

And one they call His father standing by, 
Shepherds and Magi, with the gifts they bear. 
An angel chorus rolling through the sky, — 
Once more the sacred mystery we scan. 
And wonder if the Christ be God's best gift to 
man. 

Pale, patient Pleader for the poor and those 
Whose hearts are homes of sorrow and of 
pain. 
Thy voice is as a balm for all their woes ; 

Through twenty centuries it calleth plain 
As when it breathed the invitation blest, — 
" Ye weary, come to Me, and I will give you rest." 



THE NAZARENE 

We mark Thy miracles, but would not bring 

Them to the test of Reason's crucible. 
What profit were it such full faith to fling 
To unbelief's wild winds ? Oh, who can 
tell 
The sacred secrets hidden by the veil 
That Reason cannot rend nor mortal man assail? 



Why should we doubt that Thou didst walk 
the wave, 
That Thou didst still the storm on Galilee, 
That Thou didst summon Lazarus from his 
grave. 
Or mad'st the leper clean, the blind to see ? 
Oh, for the faith that hath the strength to 
burn 
Bright through these skeptic mists, though 
Reason from it turn ! 



THE NAZARENE 

But most we love Thee for the Voice that 
blessed 
The little children when they came to Thee, 
And for the human heart within Thy breast 

That beat for all, but bled for misery, 
And for the hand, stretched down in love to 
greet. 
That lifted back to life the woman of the street. 



For things like these our hearts can under- 
stand, — 
All, all is human, nothing doth beguile; 
But Thy great deeds such credence do de- 
mand 
That faith and reason fail to reconcile : 
Is that within our breasts a fabled hope? 
Oh, leave it undisturbed, lest in the gloom we 
grope ! 



THE NAZARENE 

Fond fictions ot our faith ! though Science turn 
Her searchlight on the past, and Reason 
scorn. 
What comfort give they when the soul doth 
yearn 
For that pure peace that passeth all things 
born 
Of human knowledge? Then Thy mystic birth, 
Thy life, Thy love. Thy death declare Thy 
saving worth. 

Then let the wrecking infidel proclaim 

His creedless course o'er life's uncertain sea. 
What knows he of the faith that Thou didst 
frame. 
That falters not to face eternity? 
The grave, his gloomy goal, is but a door 
Through which we pass to life, as Thou didst 
pass before. 

ID 



THE NAZARENE 

Reason may seek to ruin. Science scorn. 

But that great love of Thine hath made us 
wise 
In wisdom not of understanding born. 

That bids us turn to Thee with longing eyes 
And outstretched hands. We know that Thou 
art He, 
Nor do we seek a sign as did the Pharisee. 

Sweet festival that bringeth back once more 

The golden dreams of childhood, let us turn 
Like little children to the Christmas lore 
That once did hold us spellbound, till we 
learn 
Again the lesson of Thy love ; for we 
Must be like children. Lord, ere we can come 
to Thee. 



II 



FAITH-FOUNDED VISION 

Faith -FOUNDED vision of the manger, rise 
In all thy humble glory and unfold 
Time's dusty leaves, until thy page of gold 

Shines through the ages on our wondering eyes. 

From out the starry silence of the skies 
A mighty flood of harmony is rolled ; 
Once more the song is sung, the story told, 

And cradled on the earth a Saviour lies. 

What priests and prophets did with faith foretell, 
We looking backward with clear eyes can see 
The thorn-crowned God forsake His throne 
above ; 
We hear the chorus, but we hear as well 
The midnight moan in dark Gethsemane, 
And sink overwhelmed beneath His bound- 
less love. 

12 



"GLORIA IN EXCELSIS" 

O Nazarene, down nineteen hundred years 
We hear the angel-chorus ring once more; 
We see the star, the manger, and the store 

Of precious gifts which there the shepherd-seers 

Laid at Thy feet in thankfulness and tears. 
O Christos ! may thy children, rich and poor, 
Kneel like the Magi on that day of yore 

And offer Thee their homage and their prayers. 

In cottage and in palace let the knee 

Be bent in adoration on this day; 
In lonely forest, or by moaning sea. 

Where roses bloom, or winter holds its sway. 
Let all hearts turn to Bethlehem again 
And hear the tidings, " Peace, good-will to men." 



13 



GOLGOTHA 

A SONNET OF THE CROSS 

Morn hid her face, and day was backward rolled, 

Mysterious rumblings shook the sacred hill ; 

In ghastly wonder there, shrouded and chill. 
Uprose the dead, Christ's passing to behold. 
Waked stalkers from your couches in the mould. 

Weird miracles ye saw, portending ill; 
God's days of flesh were o'er, His moments told, 

A prayer groaned through His lips, then all 
was still. 

His crown of thorns, His bleeding hands and 
feet. 
That fatal drain sped by the soldier's spear, 
A fountain whence Mercy's encrimsoned tide 

14 



GOLGOTHA 

Flows free to all; one short forgiving prayer, 
Then soared His soul; man's ransom was com- 
plete, 

The world's great price was paid, when Christos 
died. 



15 



CALVARY 

That morn no rosy splendors flushed the sky. 

Nature was stunned and paralyzed with fear; 

Darkness and silence reigned. Death hovered 
near 
The cross where hung the Christ in agony. 
" My God, my God, hast thou forsaken Me?" 

He cried aloud in anguish and despair; 

Earth trembled while the veil was rent, and 
there 
The dead walked forth, then closed the tragedy. 

Draw near in safety now, ye faithful few, 

Who weeping stood apart on that dark morn ! 

Death triumphs for a season ; soon anew 
To immortality and glory born. 

He '11 rise victorious. Leader of the way 

Through Death's dark portals to eternal day. 

i6 



THE FIRST EASTER MORN 

Last at the Cross and first beside the tomb, 
Three trembling women waited there to pay 
To their dead Lord their sacred rites that day, 

And sought their mournful vigil to resume ; 

But when they saw the early sun illume 
The sepulchre the stone was rolled away. 
Their hearts stood still with terror and dismay. 

The grave was empty. Then the heavy gloom 

Was lifted and a flood of glory shed 

Its beams around them, and they heard a 
voice : — 

" Why seek the living here among the dead? 
Your Lord is risen." Their breaking hearts 
rejoice; 
Grief melts in gladness, and with tear-dimmed 

eyes 
They view the shining stranger with surprise. 

17 



VIA CRUCIS 

Thou thorn-crowned God of Glory, 

Rejected Nazarene, 
I often read Thy story 

And linger o'er each scene, 
Till, with rapt wonder gazing. 

Mine eyes behold afar. 
Above Thy cradle blazing. 

The Magi's pilot star. 

i8 



VIA CRUCIS 

Back through the night of ages 

I tread the faith-lit way, 
And with the seers and sages 

My adoration pay. 
With them I kneel and ponder 

Why Thou foredoomed shouldst be 
Through all Thy life to wander. 

But always toward the tree. 



The distant, dismal rafter 

Did o'er Thy childhood throw 
A shadow which thereafter 

Stood forth a cross of woe. 
No sound of mirth or gladness 

Was heard through all Thy years ; 
Thy life was filled with sadness. 

Thy cup overflowed with tears. 

19 



VIA CRUCIS 

Yet in Thy love revealing 

A mercy all could claim ; 
Sustaining, cheering, healing 

The sick, the blind, the lame; 
Consoling and forgiving. 

Thy hands above them spread,- 
O Lips that cheered the living ! 

O Voice that waked the dead ! 



Yet sorrow was Thy guerdon. 

And grief was ever near, 
And mindful of the burden 

That Thou wert doomed to bear. 
Through gathering gloom extended 

Thy path of pain, until 
Thy bleeding footsteps wended 

Up Calvary's dark hill. 



20 



VIA CRUCIS 

Through darkness there directing 

The way that Thou must go, 
Its shadow still reflecting 

Along Thy path of woe. 
The ancient auguration, 

Fulfilled, at last doth rise 
In black-sparred consummation 

To lift Thee to the skies. 



Thy breaking heart presages 

The end that now is nigh; 
But soon, O Light of Ages 

And Dayspring from on high. 
Through clouds of glory cleaving. 

Thy soul shall find the light. 
Behind Thee ever leaving 

Darkness and death and night. 



21 



THE LORD'S PRAYER 

Our Heavenly Father, unto Thee we pour 
Our constant prayers, and bless Thy hallowed 

Name! 
Come in Thy kingdom, God, and now proclaim 

The age of peace to last for evermore. 

In every land, from distant shore to shore. 

Through all the earth Thy blessed will be done. 
As where in heaven, before Thy shining throne. 

Thy saints and seraphs ceaselessly adore. 

Give us, O God, this day our daily bread; 

Forgive us now as others we forgive; 
Guide our weak feet that they may never tread 

Temptation's paths, and teach us how to live. 
That, by Thy power, we from the tomb shall rise 
And share Thy glorious kingdom in the skies. 

22 



THE CROSS- CROWNED CAIRN 

A WHISPERED prayer, a stone with reverent hand 
Laid near a cross that on a cairn doth stand, — 
This and no more ; no fragrant buds to wreathe 
A garland for the silent dead beneath ; 
No requiem rolling on the desert air 
To guide us to the lonely sleeper there; 
No rudely written legend to proclaim 
His birth, his death, his country, age, or name; 
Yet never vault, from dark Machpelah's cave, 
Where Israel's primal Patriarch found a grave; 
Nor yet the dome that Artemisia raised 
O'er Caria's king, at which a world amazed 
In wonder stood; nor Gizeh's gloomy pile, 
Housing the haughtiest Pharaoh by the Nile; 
Nor sacred shrine, nor quiet cloistered fane. 
Wherein the proudest dust of earth hath lain, 

23 



THE CROSS-CROWNED CAIRN 

E*er sent a softer slumber than these stones 
That shelter from the sun a wanderer's bones. 

The prayers we pray, our dirges of distress, 
'Neath carven arch, or in the wilderness. 
What are they to the dead ? Oh, who can say 
Where the dread Spoiler pauses, — if the clay 
Alone surrenders to his blighting breath. 
Or whether down the sombre stream of death, 
The spirit, drifting into darkness, dies, 
As did this flesh beneath these burning skies? 

It is not so! The symbol that doth keep 

Its lonely vigil on yon stony heap 

Is eloquent, and tells of Him who first 

Did through Death's black, unbroken barriers 

burst ; 
Of Him on whom a world has learnt to lean, 
And from the darkest hours of grief to glean 

24 



THE CROSS-CROWNED CAIRN 

The Hope that helps when other comforts fail, 
The Faith that falters not before the veil, 
The Love that prays in every Christian land. 
When in the presence of the dead we stand. 
That though the dreamless dust may never wake. 
The soul may somewhere see the morning break. 



25 



THE WANDERER 

The old cathedral bells sound sweet and clear; 
And as I listen to their well-known peal 
A thousand thronging recollections steal 

Across the gulf of many a vanished year. 

At last I stand, a way-worn wanderer, 

Within Thy temple, God, and almost feel 
The presence of the dead, and as I kneel 

Sweet angel voices mingle with my prayer. 

The bells are hushed — the mighty organ rolls 
Majestic music through the gloomy fane; 

A happy chorus of triumphant souls 
With hallelujahs swell the sacred strain; 

A light celestial fills my streaming eyes, 

A Jacob's ladder reaching to the skies. 

26 



RESIGNATION 

I FEEL Thy chastening rod, O God, nor dare 
To murmur aught against Thy just decree ; 
A bruised reed, I yet can come to Thee, 

And know that Thou wilt hearken to my prayer. 

The day is well-nigh spent, the night is near, 
But as the shadows gather over me. 
Through the dark gloom my weary eyes can see 

The breaking of a dawn more bright and fair. 

Oh, give me strength to follow that clear light 
Which, like the flaming pillar in the sky. 

From Egypt led the way-worn Israelite 

And brought him forth from death to liberty; 

Shine on my path, that I may see the way 

That leads from darkness to eternal day. 



27 



OUT OF EGYPT 

Hope of the helpless! Comforter of those 

Whose world is walled within the sick man's 
room! 

Lord God of Love and Mercy! unto whom 
Pale prisoners of pain come with their woes ! 
I thank Thee for the cheering light that throws 

Its blessed beam at last across the gloom, — 
A cloud by day, a fire by night it glows, 

Hope's pilot pillars that my path illume. 

Oh, if it be Thy will that I should make 
My way from out the durance of despair. 
Though to full strength I never may attain. 
Yea, even though these links I may not break. 
Let me remember still in grateful prayer 

The Love that for a season loosed the chain. 



28 



THE ROCK OF AGES 

I AM the Babe that in the manger lay, 

The mystic oiFspring of the mother-maid ; 
I am the Christ whose pale and suffering clay 

Was the great price for man's salvation paid; 

I am the God to whom a world has prayed 
For nineteen hundred years ; I am the Way, 
The Truth, the Life, the comfort and the stay 

To whom despairing mortals look for aid. 

Faith-faggots kindled in the furious light 

Of bigot hate, like wrecking beacons gleam 

Across the crimson waves that beat Time's 

shore. 

But through the wildest storm and blackest night 

I stand the Rock of Ages, and My beam 

Leadeth and saveth those whose hearts are 

pure. 

29 



JOB 

Majestic Mourner ! when thy spirit moaned 
Itself to music on thy wondrous page; 

When thy great sorrowing soul in anguish 
groaned. 
And when Fate flung to thee her galling gage. 
Oh ! what a soul-sustaining heritage 

Was hidden in the fortitude that owned 
How vain and weak it were a war to wage 

With Him, the Lord, who sits in heaven en- 
throned ! 

Thy flesh was fed to foulness. Sorrow clad 

Thy soul with sackcloth, and thy forehead 
frowned 
With the black ashes of a heart consumed; 

30 



JOB 

But through it all, O Man of Uz, thy sad 
But sure philosophy thy trials crowned 

With perfect peace that out of patience 
bloomed. 



31 



THE NEEDLE'S EYE 

Through the small postern of a needle's eye 
A camel easier far its way can wend 
Than for a rich man's spirit to ascend 

And pass the shining portals of the sky. 

Yet there are many who can testify- 
That Riches oftentimes are swift to blend 
With Charity that boasteth not to bend 

Above the bed where Want and Sickness lie. 

Ye rail against the Rich, but little know 

The countless deeds of kindness they have done 
Unto the Poor. But there 's an Eye to see — 
'Tis His who soothed the suffering long ago, 
And said, " In that ye did it unto one — 
The least of these — ye did it unto Me." 



32 



A RHYME OF THE REDEEMED 

To the regions where the righteous dwell in ever- 
lasting peace. 
To the House of Many Mansions in the skies, 
Where the Halls of Heaven echo to the songs 
that never cease, 
And the dawnless day in darkness never dies; 
Where the prophets, priests, and martyrs, and the 
saved and sainted stray 
Through the streets of gold that like to crystal 
gleam. 
Once my spirit in a slumber burst the shackles 
of the clay. 
And I passed the gates of heaven in a dream. 

There I saw the shining city with its walls or 
precious stone, — 
Jasper, jacinth, amethyst, and chrysolite, — 
33 



A RHYME OF THE REDEEMED 

And the crystal river ever flowing forth beneath 
the throne. 
And the trees whose leaves are balm for every 
blight; 
Heard the clear celestial chorus and the never- 
ending hymn. 
And the harps that never know a tuneless 
chord ; 
Saw the princely six-winged angels and the shining 
seraphim 
Hide their faces as they bent before the Lord. 

Like the sands upon the seashore, or the stars 
that gem the sky. 
Did that multitude exceed all human count; 
There the vilest who find mercy when the last 
dark hour is nigh. 
As the thief who hung beside Him on the 
mount, 

34 



A RHYME OF THE REDEEMED 

Stand with legions of the chosen, gleaned from 
every clime and creed, 
With a pardon purchased by the Paraclete : 
Some by faith oft find salvation, and some gain it 
by a deed. 
Like the woman of the town who kissed His 
feet. 

There I saw her, and saw many who like her had 
loved and erred. 
And among them one who had from childhood 
grown 
Like a pure and peerless lily, till the serpent's 
hiss she heard 
In the flowers that along her path were strown. 
Then she rose like her of Corinth,— for her fault- 
less form and face 
Made sin seem a thing to worship and to 
bless; 

35 



A RHYME OF THE REDEEMED 

She was wooed by Wit and Wisdom, Rank and 
Wealth sought her embrace, 
And men journeyed from afar for her caress. 

Much I marveled as I saw her, and I bade her 
tell me how 
She had washed her scarlet raiment into white ; 
How she stood among the ransomed with a halo 
on her brow. 
How her sinful soul had reached that realm of 
light. 
As she turned and looked upon me, from her lips 
the story came 
Of the sacred spark that sometimes smoulder- 
ing lies 
Deep in sin, then like a phoenix through the 
ashen heaps of shame 
Bursts in beauty tnd on wings of mercy 
flies. 

36 



A RHYME OF THE REDEEMED 

" It was Christmas Eve/' she told me, " and the 
night was wild and cold ; 
I was speeding through the darkness unto 
one 
Whom I loved, — not for his bounty, though he 
gave me gems and gold; 
But there is no word in Love's long lexicon 
That can tell the burning torture of the thirst 
that often craves 
In the hearts of hapless women who are 
thrown 
Like to waifs upon the waters, but at last across 
the waves 
See the saving sail of rescue to them blown. 

" Thus my soul was thirsting for him, and my 
heart began to beat 
With the hope that he would call me wife at 
last, 

37 



A RHYME OF THE REDEEMED 

When I looked and saw a woman crouching in a 
darkened street. 
And I heard her moan with anguish as I 
passed. 
As I heard that wail of sorrow, quick from 
pleasure's path I turned 
And soon bent above the sufferer where she lay; 
She was faint with pain and hunger, and I saw 
that she had learned 
The dark lesson of the love that leads astray. 

" Little cared I for the Levites that passed on the 
other side, 
Or for those who quickly gathered round me 
there: 
I, a sinner, turned Samaritan and helped her 
when she cried, 
As God heard, ere many days, my own last 
prayer. 

38 



A RHYME OF THE REDEEMED 

Then 1 flung my robe around her, took her 
home, and she was laid 
On my bed, by which I watched her until 
morn; 
As the cold gray dawn of Christmas o'er her 
pallid features strayed. 
On a sinner's couch a sinless soul was born. 

" With her child upon her bosom soon in sleep I 
saw her lie, 
Then outworn I sank in slumber there by 
them; 
Soon I heard an angel chorus roUing through 
the winter sky, — 
'T was the herald hymn they heard in Bethle- 
hem; 
Then my dreaming senses drifted through the 
years unto the time 
Of my girlhood and the place where I was 

born, 

39 



A RHYME OF THE REDEEMED 

And In my dreams I fancied that I heard again 
the chime 
I had often listened to on Christmas morn. 



" Once again within the little village church I 
seemed to kneel. 
Once again the blessed anthem seemed to 
hear, 
And a peace that passeth telling o'er my spirit 
then did steal. 
And I woke and saw God's saving purpose 
clear. 
Though 't was He who called my soul from sin 
unto salvation when 
The young sufferer cried to me, I knew it not; 
It was woman unto woman, sinner unto sinner 
then, — 
'T was the sympathy by Impulse oft begot. 
40 



A RHYME OF THE REDEEMED 

" But ere many days the icy darts, which first I 
did not feel 
When I gave my cloak to shield her from the 
blast. 
Were soon burning in my bosom, and I saw the 
Spoiler steal 
Through the gloom and stand beside my couch 
at last. 
Then the lips that Sin had silenced unto prayer 
began to plead 
For forgiveness as life swiftly ebbed away ; 
But I cried aloud for mercy in my souFs 
extremest need. 
And I heard a voice these words of comfort 
say: — 

" ' I was sick and I was hungry, I was naked, and 
ye came 
In my misery and ministered to me; 
41 



A RHYME OF THE REDEEMED 

Inasmuch as you have done it to this woman, 
you may claim 
The salvation that from sin shall set you free/ 
Then the gloom began to gather, but a Hand in 
mine I felt 
As my spirit through the shades of darkness 
passed. 
But soon woke and saw the shadows in a death- 
less glory melt. 
And beheld my Saviour face to face at last." 



42 



IN MEMORIAM 



SANDS W. FORMAN 



With more than Spartan fortitude he bore 
An overwhelming weight of woe that few 
E'er bend beneath and live; Fate round him 
threw 

Ataxia's torturing chain long years before 

His noon of life was reached, and yet he wore 
The galling fetters bravely, for he knew 
The sufferer's sad philosophy, and drew 

From it the strength that taught him to endure. 

And when I looked upon his calm, cold face. 
He seemed to whisper that his wearied soul 
Had found the peace no living lips can tell; 
And as we laid him in his resting-place 

The winter wind breathed slow and seemed 
to roll 
A requiem o'er him, sighing '' All is well." 
43 



"A BRUISED REED HE WILL NOT 
BREAK " 

A BRUISED reed He will not break, 

Though bitter blasts around it roar; 
His faithful He will not forsake. 

Yea, though the weary brain may ache, 

The fainting flesh its fate deplore, 
A bruised reed He will not break. 

The bravest heart at last may quake. 

The raven locks be frosted o'er; 
His faithful He will not forsake. 

Though winter winds the oak may shake, — 

Yea, lay it low upon the moor, — 
A bruised reed He will not break. 
iL.cfC' 44 



"A BRUISED REED HE WILL NOT BREAK'' 

Though unto grief each morn we wake. 
Let 's not forget the cross He bore ; 
His faithful He will not forsake. 

Let us obey the words He spake. 

And walk the way He went before. 
A bruised reed He will not break, 
His faithful He will not forsake. 



45 



WEARY 

Not as a means of grace. 

And hope of glory, — No! 
But could I see Thy face, 
And hear the blessing flow. 
As when Thy living lips the promise poured. 
Then would I kneel and wait for mercy. Lord. 

Ye weary, come to Me 

And I will give you rest. 
Have I not bent the knee 
And all my soul confessed? 
Art Thou a myth, O God? or am I blind, 
Groping in gloom for peace I cannot find? 

46 



WEARY 

Oh, shed one beam of light, 

And when my flesh is wrung 
Through agony's long night. 
When all my life is hung 
On Retrospection's cross, and when the spear 
Of Conscience strikes my soul, then be Thou near. 

Whisper one word of hope. 

That my faint heart may know 
How with these fears to cope. 
And respite gain from woe. 
Bind up my wounds and breathe the healing balm 
Of one kind word to comfort and to calm. 

Not for a heaven unearned. 

Nor to escape a hell. 
My lips have often burned 
To drink of Mercy's well ; 
Yearning in that sweet flood themselves to steep, 
And drift away from life in dreamless sleep. 

47 



Some Press Notices of 
The Dead Calypso^ and Other Verses. 

There are poems in this volume of noble range. Robertson 
is certainly a purist, and has a thorough knowledge of the 
technique of poetry. He is never guilty of a false quantity, nor 
does he ever lower the tone from its original setting. His work 
has received recognitionjn the East and in England, and there 
is an increasing demand there for the work of this extraordinary 
CaHfornian poet. — San Francisco Evening Post. 

His verses show the hand of a man of great literary attain- 
ments; a man whose mentality has been cultivated to the highest 
pitch, and yet whose soul is, and ever has been, the soul of a 
born poet. In expression and form Mr. Robertson's verses are 
in themselves perfect; yet this mechanical excellence, if we may 
so express it, attracts no attention to itself. The lines run so 
smoothly and the thoughts are so beautifully expressed, that it is 
the intent of the poetry, and not its form, that makes the lasting 
impression on the reader's mind. — San Francisco Call. 

His lines oft glow in brilliant pictures. They unfold grand 
scenes; tableau after tableau presents itself in brilliant, pulsating 
coloring. This is particularly true of the poem " The Dead 
Calypso." There is a sonorous ring to this verse. The 
scenes painted in it are the work of a master of the English 
language. Not a word that does not express full meaning; 
not a word that could be improved by a substitute, and for 
this, apart from the poetic qualities of Mr. Robertson's writings, 
admiration is his just due. — San Francisco Bulletin. 

Last night before retiring, I read again, for the third or 
fourth time, that powerful poem ** Ataxia." What imagination! 
What realism ! It stirred every fibre of my nature, awakened 
every quality and every faculty, and mixed all night with all my 
thoughts and fancies. If a piece of self-revelation, it is awful; 
any way, it is a super-Byronic production —creation. — Addi- 
son P. Russell, Author of '' A Club of One.'' 

The Dead Calypso, and Other Verses. By Louis A. Robert- 
son. A. M. Robertson, publisher, San Francisco. ^1.50, net. 



NOV 28 1302 



-- ' , ; ^^r;-^^^ ; 




